


Cinderpulse: A Bluepulse Cinderella AU

by The_Mouse_of_Anon



Series: The Cinderpulse-verse [1]
Category: Blue Beetle (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Cinderella AU, Khaji Da having horrendous timing for his commentary, Khaji Da overreacting, M/M, Vague Mentions of Abuse, craaaaack, mention of character death and murder, the kingdom of TEXAS!, weird world tech levels, with superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mouse_of_Anon/pseuds/The_Mouse_of_Anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Jaime Reyes was given a chance his parents never had, the chance to choose who he'd marry. However, due to an agreement among the Six Allied Kingdoms if he doesn't choose who he's going to marry by the time he turns 18, then he has to choose another heir of one of the Six.</p><p>In desperation his family throws a ball, inviting as many prospective partners for Jaime from all over the kingdom as possible-- only for Bart Allen, the one person who arrived uninvited, to steal his heart away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderpulse: A Bluepulse Cinderella AU

**Author's Note:**

> This reality, the country placement, and its tech level are really weird. I have no excuse beyond the fact that this is thoroughly AU and a bit crack-ish. Also, I apologize ahead of time for how absolutely horrible I made Bart's 'step-mother' and 'step-sisters'. Another thing to know: I kind of played around and tweaked with how Bart is related to Barry, just to make it work with the story better. I have no idea who Bart's parents were in this story-- I just know that I re-wrote Barry and Iris to be Bart's uncle and aunt.

Truth be told Jaime was bored. Dancing with people he didn’t really know or have much interest in (or having their parents accost him to try to get him to dance with them) wasn’t his idea of a fun time, and though he’d escaped to the side of the room for a drink he knew the reprieve was temporary. He wanted the ball to be over so he could continue with his life on his own terms, but he knew that was wishful thinking. He was getting close to an age where he _had_ to have a betrothed at the very least— in about a year or so his time would run out, and as heir to the throne of Texas he would start feeling pressure from the other royal families of the Six Allied Kingdoms to choose to wed one of their heirs. His parents had tried to give him leniency, to hold off so that he wasn’t put in a position like they had been (although their relationship had worked out well) so that he could have a choice of _who_ he would marry, but he had put it off as long as possible. Who wanted to think about finding someone to marry when they were a kid? Certainly not Jaime.

Well now here he was, 16— _‘Going on 17’_ his mind unhelpfully supplied— and he hadn’t yet made a decision. He’d already been getting swamped by pictures of eligible princesses, the occasional rare prince, and the even rarer prinze (the pictures of the two prinzes proved that while both were stunning in their way, their style of beauty was far removed from ‘traditional’ men’s or women’s beauty— but being that Jaime wasn’t one to judge by looks first he wasn’t sure either of them were his type). Ideally he knew he should restrict his choices to women so that he might possibly produce heirs, but with his little sister Milagro around that at least relieved some of that pressure. Many of the propositions were coming from far-flung lands beyond the Six Allied Kingdoms that he had barely even heard of. As for the other heirs to the Six… he’d met all of them several times over as he’d grown up. None of them were really his type. Never mind that he didn’t exactly know what his type _was_ …

[ _You are not paying attention, Jaime Reyes,_ ] Khaji Da said into his mind.

Oh yes, and there was that other detail that he and his family had been keeping secret, a sort of make-or-break deal that whoever the poor sod was who ended up marrying Jaime would have to contend with: Khaji Da, otherwise known as the ‘demon’/‘guardian angel’/who-knew-what-to-call-him who Jaime shared his body with. That in and of itself was an awkward story Jaime didn’t really like getting into; particularly because that would mean he’d have to explain _why_ he’d thought wandering in mortuary catacombs _alone_ was a good idea (which was an inappropriate decision for a prince anyway) along with why he would ever even think agreeing to sharing his body with another entity was the decision to make. Most people logically would assume that any being demanding/requesting such a thing would have to be a demon and pure evil. Jaime didn’t know precisely what to call Khaji Da, but since he wasn’t really evil— just protective of Jaime with a violent streak that tended to be directed at anyone who intended Jaime harm— he felt fairly confident that ‘demon’ was a bit of a strong word. _‘Maybe something more like a really grumpy fairy-guard.’_

[ _…You should be paying attention,_ ] Khaji Da growled in a somewhat put-upon tone. [ _This is one of your last chances to have free choice of who to choose as your mate. You should be paying attention so you are not forced to settle for the Amazon._ ]

Jaime almost snorted his drink right then and there. He waved off the concerned look from the waiter he’d taken the drink from with a partially coughed out, “I’m fine! Really! Just almost inhaled my drink.”

“Of course Your Majesty,” the man said before wandering off to deliver drinks to other attendees of the ball once he was certain that Jaime was alright.

It was no secret to Jaime that Khaji Da couldn’t _stand_ Her Royal Majesty Cassie Sandsmark, Princess of the Amazons (personally Jaime didn’t think she was really _that_ bad), but why he seemed so adamant that if Jaime didn’t choose someone— _anyone!_ — else, and soon, that Jaime would be stuck marrying Cassie, the prince had no clue. Then again, Khaji Da did have a talent for thinking up some of the worst nightmare-scenarios and then offering a long litany of things Jaime should do to avoid said nightmare-fuel… Jaime shook his head. No, Khaji Da wasn’t evil, just temperamental and prone to making violent recommendations to ensure Jaime’s ‘safety’ in his over-zealousness.

“Your Majesty,” a woman about his age greeted as she curtsied, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were here off to the side and I couldn’t help but wondering if, well… Would you agree to dance with me?” Jaime just barely kept his eyebrows from climbing. It was rare that anyone not attached to the palace staff ever approached him so openly— not that he minded, he preferred that others feel relaxed around him in all honesty— but her tone was off. Despite her seemingly innocent words there was a somewhat seething quality to them. Khaji Da almost screeched in Jaime’s mind.

Trying to ignore the incoherent mix of Spanish, English, and Khaji Da’s own bizarre language ricocheting around in his head, as he passed off his drink to one of the wait staff Jaime said, “You flatter me Miss…?”

“Elena,” she supplied with a smile that, like her prior tone, didn’t come off as innocent in the slightest. In fact, if anything, Jaime felt that he was being sized up, like an animal bound for slaughter.

“…Elena,” he repeated, smiling politely at the redhead.

[ _Do not trust her Jaime Reyes! She desires your flesh!_ ]

_‘…That’s kind of the point ése. Or did you miss that marriage entails that?’_

[ _Her hair color is false! If she lies about her hair color what else would she lie about?!_ ]

Jaime barely held back the temptation to give an aggravated sigh. _‘So she’s a bottle-redhead and dyed her hair. It’s_ really _not that big a deal-’_ he silently thought at Khaji Da only to be cut off as he spotted Cassie making her way across the room toward him like a woman on a mission.

[ _…I take it back. Dance with her Jaime Reyes! Dance with this Elena! Do not trust her, but dance with her to avoid the Amazon!_ ] Jaime didn’t think he’d heard Khaji Da ever so panicked in the entire time he’d known him.

Offering Elena a hand, Jaime said aloud, “I would be charmed to dance with you.”

They swept onto the dance floor, and though he danced with her for several songs he very quickly found there was an unsettling hunger that she radiated. It was almost as if she wanted to seize hold of him like he was the most prized possession in a dragon’s hoard. It was really starting to creep him out. As he was contemplating what would be the most polite way to extricate himself from her grasping talons (prince or no, his parents had taught him some manners), another woman— this one with hair as black as Elena’s was red (that is to say _very_ )— slid up to his side to tap Elena on the shoulder.

Elena turned, clearly ready to snap at the interloper, when the brunette said in a tone full of the same false innocence (albeit not quite as threatening), “Excuse me sister dear, but may I cut in? I’m certain His Majesty can ill afford to dance with only one person tonight.”

“I’m not finished Alanna, and you know it!” Elena snapped.

“I’m afraid your sister is correct Miss Elena,” Jaime said, grateful for the interruption and the excuse. “I can’t know who the right choice is if I don’t take the time to be certain.” 

Elena seemed mollified by that, if only for a moment before Alanna announced, “How delightful!” and swept off with him before he really had any time to think.

[ _Do not trust this one either Jaime Reyes. She and her sister may seek to consume you._ ]

 _‘…Khaji Da, I don’t think they’re cannibals. I don’t think they want to_ eat _me. Normal people don’t do that.’_

[ _You do not_ know _Jaime Reyes. You do not know either of them. Their motivations are suspect._ ]

 _‘Khaji Da… most people would think_ you’re _suspect.’_ Judging by the irate clicking he heard in his head, Khaji Da found that assessment insulting.

[ _She is not worthy of you,_ ] Khaji Da finally huffed, [ _Suggestion: ditch her._ ] And this was precisely why Jaime was glad he’d had so much practice keeping his reactions to Khaji Da’s commentary hidden— otherwise he would have laughed.

 _‘Are you sure you aren’t worried about Cassie?’_ he teased.

[ _…Suggestion: shut up. The Amazon is a quantified annoyance. The Elena and the Alanna are unknown, therefore: dangerous._ ]

“Your Majesty, if I may ask,” Alanna said as the two of them swept in circles around the ballroom floor, “do you think my sister is a good dancer?” However innocent her tone, there was a barely hidden hard edge to her demeanor.

Jaime didn’t need Khaji Da’s help to feel the warning bells going off in his mind. After a moment or two he answered diplomatically, “She has some skill, and so do you. Maybe it runs in your family?”

She gave a laugh that most people might interpret as ‘delighted’; Jaime suspected it was more to cover a sudden jealous anger. “I had no idea you were so charming, Your Majesty. Are you this delightful to all the girls?”

Jaime flushed, realizing the sort of corner Alanna had backed him into. Because she hadn’t come off as desperate as Elena he’d let his guard down a little, only to find that she was a bigger ‘threat’ than her sister. “Actually…,” he started, trying to think of what he could possibly say that wouldn’t result in an explosive scene, “I-”

It was then, with Khaji Da practically shrieking in his ear about how ‘the Alanna’ wanted to wed him so she could butcher him in his sleep and ‘consume’ his ‘flesh’, that he happened to look at the grand staircase and saw an auburn-haired teen standing there. The boy was dressed in unique finery in red, gold brocade, and cream— decorated with transparent cream-colored veils here or there that matched the sleeves— which clearly allowed for a full range of movement without sacrificing any of its elegance. He stood there, unannounced, his eyes skimming over the room before coming to land on Jaime, and then he smiled one of the most brilliant and mischievous smiles Jaime had ever seen in his life. Jaime’s eyes went wide.

[Breathe _, Jaime Reyes,_ ] Khaji Da demanded.

“I… _Lo siento._ You’ll have to excuse me Miss Alanna. One of my guests arrived late and he hasn’t been announced. I’ll just… It has been lovely dancing with you,” he stammered out before releasing Alanna and making a speedy getaway toward the stairs. He didn’t really care if it was the most polite of exits.

The boy slowly made his way down the stairs to meet Jaime, as if he had every right to be wherever he pleased, as if he owned the room. But he’d arrived late, he hadn’t been announced, and as well-dressed as he was it seemed as if the doormen couldn’t have been willing to throw him out. Why, throwing out someone who was clearly a noble at the very least was unthinkable! But he hadn’t been announced, he couldn’t have been on the approved guest list, and yet— “Sorry for being late,” he smiled, his bright green eyes lighting up as Jaime drew near.

“You weren’t announced,” Jaime said dumbly, quietly, feeling as if he’d forgotten how to talk.

The auburn-haired teen laughed and answered quietly enough that only Jaime (and Khaji Da) could really hear him, “Yeah well, must’ve left my invitation in my other pants. Just the sort of luck I have. Figured if it was alright I could crash the party anyway.”

Jaime couldn’t believe the other teen’s audacity. Under normal circumstances an unknown individual without an invitation would have been ejected immediately (protecting against assassins and all that)— but no would-be assassin would ever consider admitting _to the prince_ that they hadn’t been invited. That, combined with the wicked glint in his eyes that spoke of a devious sense of humor that Jaime’s guards had tried to warn him away from for the majority of his life, made Jaime want to ignore that rule for the time being.

Giving a smile of his own, Jaime bashfully said in a tone pitched as low as the other teen’s, “You’re welcome to stay. Here. At the ball I mean. Not the— well, I don’t mean— that is… _Lo siento._ Would you like to dance with me?”

The mysterious teen laughed, a genuine bright sound that suffused Jaime with warmth. “That sounds crash. I’d love to,” he grinned.

Jaime was slightly baffled by the other’s word choice, but he shrugged it off as the two of them slowly made their way to the center of the ballroom and began dancing. He had eyes only for the enigma that was the other teen, to the point where he mostly ignored the odd drumming sensation between his shoulder-blades as Khaji Da threw himself into deep contemplation. Jaime also didn’t pay the random murmurs and whispers any mind. After a time, as they swung around the ballroom in time with the music Jaime asked, “What brought you here? You couldn’t have known they’d let you in.”

The other teen shrugged. “No, but it was worth a shot. Besides, the idea of crashing a royal party _and_ possibly getting to meet the prince? Worth it.”

“And why did you want to meet me?”

“Mostly as a cheap excuse to see if you were as hot up close as you are from a distance,” the other teen teased. Jaime blushed, but this time it was… pleasant.

[ _…Jaime Reyes, recommendation: ask this one more questions. Find out if he is worth your while. You may be able to ward off the cannibals and the Amazon._ ]

Only long practice kept Jaime from sputtering in response to that. There were times where he really wished Khaji Da had better timing and lacked a penchant for saying incredibly awkward things.

“So, what does the prince think of all this? The extravagant search for someone to marry?” the teen asked, his tone still light and playful.

“A bit over-the-top,” Jaime admitted, “But it’s better than just having someone tossed at me, you know?”

“The prince speaks!” the other laughed, “Must feel like you’re walking into a bit of a trap, huh?”

“You could say that,” Jaime chuckled.

“How long have you been dancing around this room?”

Jaime smiled, “Too long. Since about 7:00.”

“That’d make anyone feel moded, especially if they’re being treated like a prize show-pony,” the boy said, his humorous tone taking the sting out of the words.

“And what would you suggest? A walk through the gardens?” Jaime teased back.

“Why not? This place is crowded, people are staring at us like we announced that the entire palace is made of chicken-bones and that from now on Tuesdays are to be known as ‘shirtless Tuesdays’.”

Jaime immediately started snickering, tried to stuff it down, and then very quickly tugged the other boy along with him out through the doors leading to the palace gardens. Only when they were safely within the maze did he just let go and laugh.

The other boy grinned, his tone still just as teasing as it had been thus far. “Oh ho, looks like the prince has a sense of humor. Anybody chasing you know about that?”

“You’re _ridiculous_ ,” Jaime laughed.

“And you think it’s hilarious.”

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You? In trouble? Isn’t that kind of impossible?”

Jaime waited a few moments as he tried to collect himself before answering, “You don’t know my guards. They tend to panic whenever I do anything ‘unexpected’.”

“…Like dragging a hot guy you just met into the palace gardens?” he asked in a tone so innocent it bordered on the absurd.

Jaime snorted. “And what about you, Mr. No-name? Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble?”

The other boy struck a thoughtful pose for a moment or two before bluntly announcing, “Nope. You said I could stay, so I stayed. It’s hardly _my_ fault if you enjoy my company.”

Jaime shook his head in disbelief about how thoroughly irreverent the other was. He liked it. It made him feel not like the prince, not like the heir looking for a future spouse, but like Jaime— _just_ Jaime, as if that was all the other saw and all that mattered.

“Besides, it wouldn’t make much sense for people to get upset at me when you’re the one who decided to ignore everybody else,” he continued in an amused tone.

[ _Ask him Jaime Reyes. This one may be your best choice. Ask him._ ]

 _‘…_ Now _you’re giving me relationship advice?’_

[ _You enjoy his company Jaime Reyes. You are relaxed. He is not a threat. Assessment: best choice available. Recommendation: ask him._ ]

Looking at the other teen Jaime finally said, “You never did tell me what your name is.”

For only a moment the auburn faltered before flashing a smile and saying, “I’m not sure what good knowing my name would do. After tonight you might not ever see me again.”

Jaime gave a light frown. “But what if I _do_ want to see you again? How am I supposed to know who to look for or where to find you?”

Green eyes registered surprise. “I- I dunno. I mean, you’re crash an’ all, but… I dunno if you really knew who I am if you’d want anything to do with me— or even if your guards would let you see me.” He said the last with a lopsided smile.

“I don’t want tonight to be the only time I get to see you,” Jaime said honestly, “I want to see you again. I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you. I’ve only known you for a couple hours, but already you make me laugh and make me feel like my being the prince doesn’t even matter to you. I don’t get that a whole lot.”

The other teen looked down as he blushed. Silence stretched between them.

[ _Ask him Jaime Reyes!_ ]

“I do,” Jaime muttered, (mostly) ignoring Khaji Da’s demand, “I do want to know you. I don’t care where you come from, who you are that you think I wouldn’t want anything to do with you or that my guards wouldn’t let you near me. I just want to know _you_.”

The auburn-haired boy gave a nervous laugh and answered, “I could just as easily be some peasant, you know? Some servant for a noble family or a kid with no real home. Are you sure you’d want to know me, even then?”

Jaime smiled, a smile full of warmth and affection. “Even then I’d want to know you. Will you tell me your name? Please?”

The boy wavered for a moment before a smile of his own started to creep onto his face. “Bart. My name is Bart Alle-” he started to say only to cut off as the palace clock tower began to chime midnight. All the blood drained from his face. “I-I’m sorry! I have to go! _Itwascrashtohavemetyou, butIreallyhavetogo— I’msorryJaime! Ihavetogo!_ ”

Before Jaime could react, Bart bolted— back through the doors into the ballroom and straight for the grand staircase. Jaime didn’t even hesitate and bolted after him. “Wait! How am I supposed to find you again?” he called after the other.

Bart paused on the stairs to look back for just a moment, the look on his face stricken. “I’m sorry Jaime,” he whispered quietly enough that he could barely have been said to have made a sound at all, before turning to finish his mad dash up the stairs. He stumbled for a moment, losing a shoe in the process, and disappeared through the main doors.

Jaime came to a stop and gingerly picked up the discarded shoe. It was the same cream and gold that matched the outfit Bart had worn. He was at a loss, and he knew better than to bolt out into the night after the other teen. _‘…What am I supposed to do now?’_

“Your Majesty?” one of the guards asked cautiously, “Is there anything you would like us to do?”

Khaji Da chose that moment to firmly say, [ _Look for him Jaime Reyes. Look for the Bart._ ]

Jaime’s grip tightened on Bart’s shoe, a look of resolve appearing on his face. “Not tonight, no. But tomorrow, after everyone is rested? I want to look for him. I want to find him. And I am not going to give up _until_ I find him.”

***

“Jaime, be reasonable,” Alberto pleaded.

“No,” Jaime answered firmly.

“Jaime, _mi hijo_ , you know nothing about this boy, where he’s from, if he even gave you his real name,” Bianca said, trying to talk some sense into her son. “How can we find him if we don’t know any of that?”

Jaime frowned, “ _Mamí_ , _Papí_ , I’ll know him when I see him. You wanted to give me free choice over who I want to marry, and it’s him. No one else I’ve met sees me like he does. I have to at least find him so I can ask him! And if he says ‘no’ that’s fine, but I won’t know if I can’t even ask him in the first place! _Please_ , just help me find him. I don’t care if he’s a noble’s son or someone living on the street. I just want to find him.”

Bianca and Alberto exchanged a look. There was one last thing that perhaps Jaime hadn’t considered… “And what about Khaji Da, Jaime?” Bianca asked, “Do you think this boy would be willing to stay with you if he found out about him?”

Jaime faltered for a moment, then let out a slow breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know and I won’t know unless I can talk to him, _tell him_ , and _ask him_ if he wants to marry me. Please… _Mamí_? _Papí_? Help me?”

His parents exchanged another look, and Alberto let out a sigh. “Alright _mi hijo_ ,” he said wearily, “We’ll look for this boy. Don’t get your hopes up though. We don’t know if he’ll decide to show himself or stay out of sight.”

“ _¡Gracias!_ ” Jaime cheered as he hugged them both.

***

Two weeks and more passed since the ball. Whispers began filtering through the Royal Capital of Texas that Prince Jaime was looking for the person he had decided he wanted to marry. Speculation ran rampant. The City Guard searched systematically through almost every home looking for the individual whose shoe they carried. Almost every time, the prince went with them. Even though only one person had lost that specific shoe that night, that didn’t keep people from hoping that the shoe would fit them and that they would be Prince Jaime’s choice.

Even the Allen household was in a flurry about the news. Bart rolled his eyes as Elena and Alanna bickered over what they each were going to wear and what the other _shouldn’t_ wear. Ducking around them he made his way to closet with another pile of discarded dresses that they each had decided were unacceptable for accepting the prince’s entourage (and perhaps the prince himself) into their home. “Not like either of you harpies are going to get together with him,” Bart muttered under his breath as he started carelessly shoving the dresses into the corners of the walk-in closet. True, whenever it was noticed that he hadn’t actually taken the time to _pristinely_ fold or hang the dresses _appropriately_ then the royal queen of harpies, Sheryl Elaine Allen herself, would likely start screaming at him about what an ungrateful brat he was _yet again_ — but at least if she decided to take a swing at him or throw things he’d gotten fairly good at dodging over the years. She hadn’t actually successfully hit him since he was 11, and that had been shortly after his Uncle Barry had died. He still had a sneaking suspicion that Sheryl was responsible for both his Aunt Iris’s and his Uncle Barry’s deaths. He couldn’t prove it though.

“ _You_ don’t look good in red, _I_ look good in red!” Alanna shrieked.

“If by ‘looking good’ you mean that you look like some two-bit _harlot_ in red, then yes! You’re absolutely right!” Elena screamed right back.

_‘And heeeerrreee we go.’_

“You terrible wretch! You lying, foul-mouthed, odious trollop! How _dare_ you say that to _me_?!”

Elena scoffed. “I dare because it’s _true_ ‘dear’ sister. If you want to get the prince’s attention, maybe you should tone it down a little.”

“ _Excuse ME?!_ Who’s the girl who can’t seem to get by without covering up her hair every week? Oh right, that’s _you_. And _you_ want to accuse _me_ of looking like a ‘ _harlot_ ’? That’s fine commentary coming from you when your hair is a match to every red-light district lamp-”

“Girls,” Sheryl barked, “That’s _enough_. Alanna, wear the blue. Elena, you wear the green. You must be on your best behavior for when the prince’s questioners arrive. Goodness knows that if the two of you can carry this off the prince may choose one of you to wed.”

“The _green_? I _hate_ green,” Elena whined.

“Then you’ll fake it,” Sheryl snapped, “It’s a very flattering color on you and I don’t want even the _slightest_ thing to detract from the prospects for either of you.” As Elena and Alanna tugged the chosen dresses from the remaining pile on the floor, Sheryl grumbled, “And of course when you want him that boy is nowhere to be seen. Bartholomew? _Bartholomew!_ Come out this _instant!_ ”

Bart rolled his eyes again and made his way back to the closet door. “I’m right here. You don’t need to scream at me,” he sneered. He _hated_ being called ‘Bartholomew.’

Sheryl narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want any attitude from you. Help Elena and Alanna into their dresses and then clean this mess up.”

“Oh _of course_ , _m’lady_. Wouldn’t _dream_ of it _m’lady_ ,” Bart said with sarcasm dripping from his tone as he walked toward the two wrecks known officially as his ‘step-sisters’.

As soon as he was close enough Sheryl seized hold of his ear and twisted, causing him to wince. Drawing closer she snarled in a low tone, “Keep this up and you can go back to sleeping in the fireplace like the impulsive dog in need of correction that you are.” She released him just as roughly and flounced out of the room, leaving him to help Alanna and Elena into their dresses.

He wanted to tell them to figure out how to dress themselves, but held back as he rubbed at his sore ear. Whenever Sheryl got in a real towering rage things tended to go badly. _‘And of course running off would never be a solution, because where in the hell would I go_ to _?’_ Bart sighed, working quickly and efficiently to lace up and tie the corset-backs of Alanna and Elena’s dresses. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could be further away from them.

“Bartholomew, do my hair,” Elena demanded the moment he finished tying the corset.

With the greatest of difficulties he held back from the infuriated scream he was tempted to give and instead answered with, “Why Elena, are you implying that your hair isn’t good enough as is?”

Caught off guard, the redhead stammered as one of her hands went to her hair at her shoulder, “Why no, I- Should I leave it down?”

Bart gave a smirk. “My dear, dear Elena— you’re trying to attract _marital_ attention. If you go around with your hair slicked to your skull the way your mother does, you just might have the opposite effect.”

“What about me, Bartholomew?” Alanna demanded haughtily, with a poorly affected lack of concern.

Zipping over to her side Bart said, “I think the crown-braids you currently have will leave quite the impression— a little hint of what you’re looking for without overdoing it. And of course the two of you don’t want to be the _same_ because then neither of you will stand out. Either way it’s a win-win proposition. One of you attracts the prince’s attention, the other ends up the prince’s sister-in-law.” That seemed to be enough to convince the two of them that they were fine as they were and they soon made their way out of the room before Bart dropped the façade and muttered under his breath, “…in another _lifetime_ maybe. As if there’s any way Jaime would be so moded and _stupid_ to marry either of you.” At least, he hoped that wasn’t the case.

He wasn’t under any illusions that if Sheryl had her way when the prince’s questioners arrived that he would be out of sight and out of mind, not a sound to be made. As it was he had his doubts that the prince was looking for him in order to even ask him to marry him— _‘Although why he’d go to the trouble of rampaging through the kingdom trying to find me and probably making his guards want to faint is beyond me.’_ Oh Bart had his hopes, but he’d been disappointed several times too many in his life to unrealistically assume that the most logical reason for Jaime’s behavior in this case was the truth. No, far better to just settle on the fact that he had no clue what that lunatic (incredibly hot) prince was thinking and he might never get a chance to find out. Bart kicked at the remaining pile of dresses, ribbons, and other odds-and-ends on the floor. _‘What was I even thinking going to that sprocking ball? “Oh yeah, let’s crash the harpies’ mode by crashing the ball and seeing if I can get the prince’s attention! That’s a_ brilliant _plan!” Only to set myself up for one more disappointment. UGH.’_

Bart was tempted to leave the pile flung across the room as it was, but he also didn’t want to deal with Sheryl screaming or throwing things at him. Giving a scowl he went to work, picking things up and shoving them carelessly into the closet at a faster-than-normal speed. It was a little trick he didn’t do too often, mainly because in order to keep up that sort of speed (or faster) he would have to eat more and of course Sheryl wouldn’t let him do that, but it was useful for getting things done quickly. As it was, he was glad that neither Sheryl nor her daughters were aware of how fast he could move, because if they did he had a feeling that the three of them would have worked him to death by now. As soon as he got the last dress shoved in he slammed the door shut, and let out a sigh of relief when he _didn’t_ hear the sound of something crashing to the floor in the closet. That was an achievement in and of itself— normally in instances like this he would’ve accidentally knocked something (like one of the dressers) over. And _there_ were the hunger-pangs that inevitably cropped up any time he pulled a stunt like this one. Bart winced involuntarily.

Leaving Alanna and Elena’s shared parlor, he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. If he was lucky he could pull something together that Sheryl wouldn’t notice, at least enough to take the edge off his hunger. As it was, Bart was amazed that he hadn’t been going absolutely insane about the food at the palace during the ball. _‘Chalk it up to the help I got, I guess.’_ It was a fair assumption— the sort of help he’d gotten in order to even show up at the ball while looking even remotely decent (who was he kidding, he’d looked drop-dead gorgeous judging by the way the prince had reacted) wasn’t precisely _normal_ by any means…

Bart irately shoved the thought aside as he started digging through the cabinets. There was no point in thinking about it. He probably wouldn’t even see the prince’s questioners, much less the prince, the only way he’d probably get out of Sheryl’s house was if he ran away, and there probably was no place he could safely go where he’d ever get anything even close to enough to eat. Not even the demon that had helped him in the first place could fix that. Nowhere to go and not enough to eat… _‘The story of my life,’_ he thought caustically as he seized hold of a large apple and bit into it. Of course he knew the apple alone wouldn’t be enough, but he also knew that if he gave into eating until he was full that most of the cupboards would be bare and he’d only end up with Sheryl tearing into him again. He ate the apple in silence, lost in his thoughts for several long minutes before eventually tossing the core into the garbage. Chances were Sheryl would demand that he do some last-minute cleaning before the prince’s questioners arrived; the sooner he could get it all out of the way, the sooner he would be left alone for at least an hour.

He crossed the room to the kitchen door, went to pull it open, and was surprised when it didn’t budge. _‘…She couldn’t’ve…’_ Bart gave the door a firm tug. It wasn’t opening. _‘The harpy locked me in!’_ Bart scowled. Sheryl wouldn’t have even considered locking him in the kitchen, near all that food unsupervised, if she wasn’t certain that the prince’s questioners were going to be there soon. It was the last push he needed on his already raw nerves. _‘She wants me quiet? Fine, I’ll be quiet— until they get here! And then I’m crashing the harpy’s mode so hard she won’t be able to “un-crash” it ever again!’_

***

“This is the last house in this district, Your Majesty,” the head of Jaime’s personal guards stated.

Jaime felt tired and worn out. Almost every district in the royal capitol had been looked through as thoroughly as was possible and with every house and every district that had been cleared Jaime felt as if his chances of finding Bart were dwindling. If _only_ Bart had been able to tell him his full last name!

[ _We will find him Jaime Reyes,_ ] Khaji Da said calmly.

 _‘You’ll forgive me if I’m starting to have a hard time believing that ése.’_ Aloud he asked the captain of the City Guard, “What was the name of this family again?” It was a question he’d been asking routinely. He felt immensely grateful that Khaji Da remembered Bart’s precise words (and had replayed them through his mind several times) because otherwise he knew he wouldn’t have remembered the fragment of the last name Bart had given him before the auburn-haired teen had bolted.

“The Allen family, Majesty,” the captain replied with a knowing look, which really didn’t surprise Jaime all that much being that Alvar and the head of Jaime’s personal guard were siblings. It certainly made things more convenient for Jaime in that when it came to his oddities (meaning of course every bit of bizarre behavior associated with his going back-and-forth with Khaji Da) the captain knew to cover for him and he didn’t have to provide any explanations. Even so, when he heard the last name for a moment Jaime felt like his heart stopped just before it began pounding in his chest.

“Majesty?” his primary guard asked, containing more in their single word and tilt of the head than a full sentence would have. _Do we proceed? Or do we walk away knowing he may be here?_

“You said it yourself Ángel,” Jaime said, pronouncing the name in Spanish, “this is the last house in this district. If we don’t look here, we wouldn’t be very thorough.”

Ángel quirked a brow at their brother, clearly implying that as the captain of the City Guard it was his job to approach the door first. Soon enough the captain knocked on the door and announced, “City Guard, the prince’s questioners have arrived to speak with the household.”

After a moment or two the door was opened to reveal a woman with gray slicked-back hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head, covered from her neck to her toes in an elegant (if over-the-top) purple crushed-velvet dress. Jaime only just fought down the knee-jerk reaction to back up a step when he saw her. She was the very same woman who had been trying to harangue him into dancing with her daughters the night of the ball. Of course he hadn’t _seen_ her daughters that he knew of, but he knew that she at least had made him _extremely_ uncomfortable.

“Of course, welcome to my home,” she greeted as she stepped aside to allow them in. Jaime almost didn’t want to go in, but the hope given to him by that last name and a firm mental prod from Khaji Da were enough to encourage him to continue. As she led the way into the foyer she added, “I am Lady Sheryl Elaine Allen, and these are my daughters Alanna and Elena.”

Jaime’s heart sank. “Is there no one else?” Jaime asked politely, trying to keep his disappointment from showing. He remembered Elena and Alanna all too well. He hadn’t realized they were Lady Sheryl’s daughters, although now he thought of it, it went a long way toward explaining why they’d made him feel so uncomfortable; they had clearly either inherited or learned their grasping, greedy ways from her. He also wasn’t particularly eager to play along with the façade they’d been using as to how Jaime intended to recognize the mysterious person he wanted to find (because really, trying to find someone based on whether or not their foot fit a specific shoe was just _weird_ ). Only those closest to the royal family knew Jaime’s secret, knew about Khaji Da, and however ridiculous the farce was it was still more plausible then admitting to his country that the being he was sharing his body with was the one verifying whether or not they had found Bart. Personally Jaime didn’t think it would have been all that hard to recognize Bart if he’d actually _seen_ him, but Khaji Da had been thoroughly insistent that given the right resources anyone could disguise themselves to be completely unrecognizable.

“Why, no Your Majesty,” Lady Sheryl answered just as politely.

 _‘Any ideas Khaji Da?’_ Jaime asked, not wanting to lose any more hope.

[ _Processing… I am scanning the residence. Suggestion: stall._ ]

“Ángel,” Jaime started.

“Majesty?” Ángel asked, reaching for their side-bag where the shoe rested. 

Jaime gave a nod. “If you would. Just to be certain.”

Alanna began to gracefully stride over to a chair after Ángel removed the cream-and-gold colored shoe from their bag, only for Elena to dart out ahead of her, park herself on the chair, and whip off her right shoe as if she was in a race. Ángel raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment as they approached the chair and kneeled in front of her to try to place the shoe on her foot. Alvar had a spontaneous coughing fit which Jaime suspected was more of an effort not to laugh. Alanna scowled at Elena; it was all too obvious that if Jaime and his entourage hadn’t been there she probably would have been yelling at her sister. The moment Ángel got the shoe in position Elena jammed her foot in and shrieked gleefully, “It fits! It fits! Oh would you just look? It _fits!_ ” while holding her foot aloft.

Hooking their fingers into the gap at the heel of the shoe Ángel corrected firmly, “Actually, m’lady, it’s a bit large on you.”

Elena scowled and tried to jerk her foot back without pulling her foot out of the shoe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! It fits perfectly!”

“No,” Ángel said in a colder tone as they jerked the shoe off her foot, “It does _not_.”

Elena gave an offended gasp, like she had never been addressed in such a tone in her life. And yet she clearly knew better than to argue as she stood, her own shoe still in her hands, and stalked out of Alanna’s way in a failed attempt at poise.

_‘Khaji Da?’_

[ _Apologies. Still processing._ ]

_‘Yeah, well… make it quick?’_

Alanna chuckled as she took a seat and delicately took off her right shoe to set it to the side. “Anyone can see, dear sister, that your feet are simply too small for such a shoe. It was made with a grown woman in mind, clearly.”

Elena glared daggers at Alanna, her grip on the shoe in her hands tightening.

Alanna at least waited for Ángel to try to place the shoe on her foot, but even so when her foot stopped moving in the shoe and she looked, her reaction was fairly similar to her sister’s. “Oh… Oh my… Would you look at that? It fits! I never…” She fanned at herself with one hand as if she was close to overcome with emotion.

 _‘Khaji Da?’_ Jaime asked with an edge of panic.

[ _She lies._ ]

Sure enough, as Alanna was about to stand to walk to Jaime, Ángel gave an aggravated sigh and yanked her foot out from under her so she landed back on the chair. One hand firmly holding her ankle, and the other prying her too-wide foot (which had gotten stuck half-way) out of the shoe, they said, “No, _m’lady_ , the shoe does _not_ fit you either.”

“So much for the shoe being made for a ‘grown woman’, hmm sister ‘dear’?” Elena asked in a maliciously taunting tone.

Alanna stood, rage blazing in her eyes. She either didn’t know who to direct it at, or she had enough sense to know not to in front of Jaime.

“Lady Sheryl,” Jaime said, “is there _no one_ else in this household?”

[ _Processing… processing…_ ]

“I’m afraid there’s no one. No one but myself, Your Majesty,” Lady Sheryl answered as innocently as was possible. “Although you’re welcome to-”

[ _She lies! Through the doors beyond the staircase Jaime Reyes!_ ]

And it was precisely at that moment that a loud crash emanated from the very room where Khaji Da had directed Jaime’s attention. Ángel, Alvar, and the rest of Jaime’s entourage closed ranks around him reflexively.

After a moment Jaime asked, “What was that?”

“Oh, that?” Elena immediately answered, her expression slightly wild, “That was nothing! Something must have just fallen— something probably wasn’t placed on a shelf correctly. You know how it is-” Another thunderous crash emanated from the room, this time with the sound of something shattering.

Ángel placed a warning hand on the ceremonial sword at their side. “That was _not_ something ‘just falling.’ What is causing that racket?”

“The dog!” Alanna volunteered, just as wild and panicky as her sister had been. “It’s just the dog. He gets into ever-so-much trouble if we don’t keep an eye on him, but since we knew that we would have visitors we thought it better to shut him away and-”

Yet another BOOM echoed out as something collided with (and bounced off of) the door, swiftly followed by a muffled outburst. [ _That is no dog, Jaime Reyes._ ]

Jaime considered for a moment before gently pushing his way through the circle of guards around him. Turning his attention on Lady Sheryl, he said in a calm tone, “Lady Sheryl, I would appreciate it if you were to open that door.”

“Why, my lord, whatever for? My girls just didn’t want to admit that we’ve been having an argument with our maid, and she is so very temperamental that it’s hazardous to herself and others really, so we couldn’t very well-”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “Lady Sheryl Elaine Allen, I will say this one more time. I would appreciate it if you were to open that door. If you don’t, I’ll have my guards do it for you.”

[ _Or we could do it. Recommended tactic: incineration._ ]

_‘If Bart’s behind there I don’t want to fry him!’_

[ _..._ Precision _incineration then._ ]

_‘We are NOT setting fire to their house!’_

Lady Sheryl drew herself up, trying to maintain some modicum of poise as she reluctantly withdrew a key-ring from her skirt-pocket and slowly walked over to the door. “Mother, _no_ ,” Elena whispered, one hand going to cover her mouth in a horrified motion. Despite her youngest daughter’s protest, Lady Sheryl turned the key with a click in the lock before opening the kitchen door.

For a moment everyone stood with their eyes trained on the entrance, barely daring to move. Between one breath and the next Bart came striding out, the anger blazing in his eyes fading the instant he saw Jaime. “Not… not exactly who I expected to see,” he said in a failed attempt at a light-hearted tone.

[ _We have found the Bart Allen,_ ] Khaji Da announced in Jaime’s head smugly.

“Ángel,” Jaime felt barely able to speak, as if his throat had just gone dry, “If you would?”

“Of course, my prince,” Ángel replied. Motioning to the empty chair they said politely to Bart, “If you would indulge us, good sir?”

Bart glanced at Jaime, a lop-sided smirk just barely hiding the sudden mirth at how ridiculous the situation was. Jaime returned the look with just the barest of smiles. “Why not? Not like I’ve got anything to do,” Bart grinned as he casually sauntered past Sheryl and her daughters to flop onto the chair.

As Ángel kneeled before Bart to slide the shoe on his foot, Elena apparently couldn’t take anymore. “This is _ridiculous!_ ” she screeched, “You can’t be seriously considering marrying a _man!_ You’re a _prince!_ ”

Alvar took a step, placing him between Jaime and Elena, before answering, “You might want to be careful how you speak to the prince, miss. If at any point I feel he’s threatened then as captain of the City Guard I am _required_ to arrest the person threatening him.” Elena went pale.

Alanna tried to speak up in an appeasing tone, clearly trying to accomplish what Elena had aimed for with less overt hostility. “Your Majesty, if I may, he’s not precisely proper marriage material for a prince. How can anyone who has been a servant possibly be the proper match for a royal?”

Before Alvar (or Ángel for that matter) could speak up, Bart rolled his eyes and said, “Oh would the two of you _give it a rest_. He doesn’t want you. He’s never _going_ to want you. And no amount of harping on it is going to change the fact that your pretty faces are nowhere near enough to make up for your lousy personalities.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot upwards as the sisters both let out shocked gasps. A moment later he involuntarily whipped his head to the side to glance over his shoulder with widening eyes as Khaji Da gave a pleased hum and said, [ _This one is the right choice Jaime Reyes. Ask the Bart Allen to marry you. Marry him. Assessment: approved._ ]

Sitting back, Ángel asked Bart, “So, how does it fit?”

Bart glanced down at his foot, lifted it for a moment, set it back down before looking at Jaime and saying, “Well, it looked a lot better when my foot wasn’t covered in ash.”

Jaime smiled and walked over to Bart to offer him a hand. Bart’s hand easily slid into Jaime’s, and that wicked mischievous glint flared to life in his bright green eyes. “Bart Allen,” Jaime said, drawing angry squawks from the sisters and their mother, “Would you marry me?”

Bart blinked for a moment in genuine surprise. “You’re serious?”

“ _Sí._ I am.”

The auburn-haired teen cocked his head to the side in thought for a moment. “You know what?” Jaime gave him a questioning look. Bart broke out with a smile that took Jaime’s breath away and said, “That would be crash.”

“Bartholomew,” Lady Sheryl said thunderously, “I will _not_ allow you to put the prince through this… this _travesty_.”

Bart gave an aggravated sigh and said, “Oh blow it out your ear. And you know what ‘oh great deranged harpy queen’? You don’t get a say. Jaime does. Oh yeah, and by the way— _my name is Bart_ and all three of you can stop using _my last name_ any time now.”

Jaime didn’t bother stifling the laugh this time, drawing shocked looks from Lady Sheryl and her daughters. After a moment or two he said, “I think we’re done here.”

“For now,” Alvar amended, “I would recommend that you three ladies stay in town while we get some things sorted out.”

***

The next few days were a whirlwind; getting a portion of the palace set up for Bart, finding out what he’d been through (which had been enough for Jaime to have to listen to a long list of death-threats from Khaji Da aimed at Lady Sheryl and her daughters over the course of three days), having the City Guard start an investigation… It was hectic, but Jaime spent as much of that time as possible with Bart, getting to know him better. The more he learned about Bart, the more certain he was that Bart was the one he wanted to marry. But still… he hadn’t told Bart about Khaji Da yet. He knew he had to, and he wanted to before they got married so that Bart wouldn’t have any sudden surprises, but he just didn’t know _how_ to. And it wasn’t exactly like Khaji Da or Ángel were helpful on that count; they both just gave him variations of the same comment— ‘Tell him.’

Finally, after Bart had been at the palace for about a week and the two of them were sitting outside in the palace gardens (nominally alone as the guards were keeping their distance around the borders of the gardens), Jaime felt he couldn’t really get away with not telling him any longer. Jaime glanced over at Bart, loving the way the sunlight made his freckles that much more obvious. More than that, he loved how _relaxed_ Bart looked. There was so much he didn’t know about Bart, but he knew that he was falling for Bart and falling _hard_.

Jaime likely would have stayed like that, just happy with looking at Bart, if it hadn’t been for the other teen turning to look back and teasing, “Like what you see?”

The prince blushed. “I think I’d have to be crazy not to, you know?”

Bart gave another of those swiftly-becoming-familiar wicked grins, “Y’know Jaime, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Oh shut up,” Jaime laughed, “You have not!”

“Mmm… Yeah, ya got me. Though some people might think you’re a bit nuts for wanting to marry _me_.” Unmentioned was the fact that Bart was still guarded and wary around almost everyone else _but_ Jaime, which had only been reinforced by the people who thought Jaime’s decision to marry Bart was scandalous.

Jaime gently bumped Bart’s shoulder with his own, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well anyone who would think I’m crazy for wanting to marry you can go jump in a lake.”

Bart arched an eyebrow. “You know it’s only a matter of time before I get completely relaxed, right? And then people will have a hard time keeping up with my stomach. People might think it’s even more scandalous that you’re marrying a bottomless pit than they do the idea that you’re marrying someone who got orphaned _twice_.” The fact that Bart had lost his parents was tragic enough, but the fact that he’d been taken in by his uncle and aunt only to lose them— both possibly to murder via poisoning— and then essentially enslaved by the woman who had preyed on his uncle’s vulnerability after his aunt Iris’s death… that was a thought that made Jaime’s heart ache. Bart’s matter-of-fact attitude about it somewhat baffled him, but he took his cues from Bart. If Bart felt comfortable dropping hints about traumatic things like they were no big deal, Jaime wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it or pry unless Bart encouraged him to.

Jaime shrugged. “You’d be surprised just how much people here are used to.”

“Oh? Is the prince ‘eccentric’?” Bart teased as he leaned back a little.

“You’ve _met_ my family,” Jaime scoffed, “How do you think I could have turned out normal with a sister like Milagro?”

Bart laughed, letting himself fall back to sprawl on the grass. After a few moments he rolled onto his side so he was facing Jaime and propped his head up on his right hand. “She’s a heck of a lot better than _some_ possibilities I could name,” he snickered, despite the dark undertone of his words.

“That’s true,” Jaime smiled.

[ _Tell him Jaime Reyes!_ ] Khaji Da demanded.

 _‘I’m working on it! Be a little patient.’_ At Bart’s curious look, Jaime sighed. “Bart… I… There’s something I have to tell you.”

As if someone had thrown a switch Bart went from playful to dead serious in less than a second. “What is it Jaime?” The unspoken ‘and is it me?’ made Jaime’s heart clench.

“I… _Mierda_ , there’s no way to say this that won’t sound crazy…”

[ _Language._ ]

_‘Shut up.’_

[ _No._ ] And now it was obvious by the way Bart’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly that he was beginning to pick up on the way Jaime would go ‘distant’ from time-to-time.

Jaime raked a hand through his hair nervously and said, “What I’m going to tell you… if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore, that’s okay. I get it. Just… promise me to keep it quiet?”

Bart suddenly propped himself up with both arms in an odd half-sitting/half-laying position and leaned into Jaime’s personal space, a determined look in his eyes. “Try me,” he challenged.

Jaime blinked a couple of times before he collected himself and began to speak, occasionally looking away in uncertainty. “Well… Just before I turned fourteen at one point me and my family were visiting one of the other Six kingdoms, you know? I got bored, didn’t have much to do, and I wanted to go exploring. For the most part my guards wouldn’t let me.”

“…This the source of you worrying about getting in trouble?” Bart smirked, his tone warm around the edges.

“Kind of,” Jaime admitted with a blush. “Anyway, I ditched my guards and ended up wandering the catacombs of this old palace there. Mortuary complex type of thing. And, well… I found someone who I’ve kind of been stuck with since— though that’s not a bad thing! At least I don’t mind it, it’s just… _dios mio_ …”

“Sooo…?” Bart asked, confusion starting to overtake his earlier concern that Jaime didn’t want him.

“There’s another person— Khaji Da— some people call him a demon, or a guardian angel, all sorts of things. I don’t know really what he is, but it doesn’t really matter to me. He’s… we share the same body,” Jaime said, a complete nervous wreck the entire way through.

Bart cocked his head to the side. “Ooookay. That’s new. You share the same body?”

Jaime facepalmed before turning his back to Bart. “Just look between my shoulder blades. You’ll see what I mean.”

Bart scooted closer and gently pulled back the collar of Jaime’s shirt to look where Jaime had directed him to— and there, snugly on his back and looking as if it was at least partially sunk into his flesh, was what looked like an enormous blue scarab. “…Well you definitely don’t see that every day,” Bart breathed before sitting back.

Jaime glanced back at him, concern written on his face. “That’s Khaji Da,” he said rather than voicing his worries.

“…And you share your body with him?” Bart asked.

“ _Sí._ ”

“And he’s…?”

“A person. Like you, like me— okay, maybe a bit more like Ángel, because he’s _ridiculously_ over-protective— but I agreed to this,” Jaime said as he turned to face Bart again.

“Huh.” Bart chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully.

[ _Recommendation: show him what_ we _look like._ ]

Jaime glanced back over his shoulder, and this time said aloud, “Are you sure _ése_?” Bart’s eyebrows shot up.

[ _Affirmative._ ]

Jaime looked back to Bart and answered the other boy’s questioning look with, “Khaji Da wants me to show you what he and I look like together, which is also how he usually looks when he’s in control.”

“Fine by me,” Bart said in a tone that sounded almost _too_ calm to Jaime.

“A little forewarning— it usually creeps people out the first few times they see it.”

Once again Bart got that challenging, determined look. He would be damned if he got chased off by a little bit of weirdness. “Show me.”

Within moments blue-and-black armor flowed forth to completely cover Jaime, his eyes shifted from the now-familiar deep brown to bright gold, and there was a thoroughly alien lack of a nose. When the change was complete Bart _stared_ … and stared… and stared…

“Bart?” Jaime asked nervously, wanting to reach for one of Bart’s hands, but afraid to on the chance that he’d pull away.

Finally Bart said, “And I thought Eddie was weird.”

Jaime gave him a confused look. “Who?”

“Eddie,” Bart answered, waving off the thought even as he answered, “He’s a friend of mine. A demon— dunno if you can actually call him a demon, ‘cause he’s really not that bad a person, but it’s the word most people think of when they see what he actually looks like. Red skin, glowing yellow eyes, white hair… black _horns_. Kinda screams ‘demon,’ you know?”

Jaime silently nodded. What were the chances that the person he wanted to marry would be used to the same sort of weird Jaime was used to?

Bart hesitantly continued, “Those clothes I had at the ball? He sort of made them. Or borrowed them. Whatever. The deal was that I was technically borrowing the clothes from the theater where he usually works, but he needed them back by midnight to keep anyone from noticing they were missing and to give him time to fix things if he needed to. So soon after I took off he sort of… magicked? them back and returned mine to me. Except I lost the dumb shoe, so he couldn’t really do anything about that. So yeah… weird.”

Jaime stared for a moment, processing that odd bit of information. “You’re right. That is weird,” he admitted. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Jaime was glad that he and Khaji Da didn’t have their wings out, because he _knew_ that their wings would be twitching and fluttering involuntarily due to how nervous he felt.

Bart broke the silence with a quiet, “Hey Jaime?”

“Yeah?”

“…You know how I’ve told you that you’re hot?” Bart asked.

“… _Sí_ …”

“How you look right now? …This is hot too.” Jaime stared. “I have weird interests! I know!”

“You’re serious,” Jaime deadpanned.

“Uh, _doy_. I wouldn’t’ve said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow… ridge? eyebrow or eyebrow-ridge? whatever— and asked while motioning to himself, “And you’re not in the slightest bit bothered by the fact that your possible future husband is sharing his body with someone who looks like this?”

Bart rolled his eyes before he started ticking off a list on his fingers. “Okay, Jaime, first off, _I like you_. You’re hot, you’re sweet, you’re charming and wonderful, you never once _assumed_ that you’d just get your way on everything, and you _always_ make sure that I get my say on things. Secondly, you got me out of my own personal hell-hole and away from the harpy-queen and her harpy-brood. Third, okay, you’re sharing your body with Khaji Da and I don’t know him yet, but if you like him and get defensive for him then he’s probably crash and I look forward to getting to know him too. Fourth, _you’re not the only one who’s freakishly weird here_. Fifth, let me eat about five pounds of food a day consistently and you’ll find out that I can actually run _on walls_. Sixth— which probably should have been before my fifth point, but whatever— I have _superspeed_. It’s an Allen family trait. I can out-distance _all_ of the fastest trains in the Six Allied Kingdoms on _foot_ on a _lazy_ day provided I’ve eaten enough frequently enough. Seventh— you’re hot no matter how you look, and yeah if this is how Khaji Da usually looks when he’s in control then by extension he’s hot too— shut up and don’t disagree with me on this. And eighth, I said yes. I’m still saying yes. I’m marrying you and you’re going to like it. So stop making me feel like you’re worried about losing me when you’re not going to lose me. ‘Kay?”

Jaime sat in stunned silence for a minute or two. Bart seemed content to let him process everything he’d said in his rather extensive tirade. Finally said in quiet disbelief, “So you’ll marry me?”

Bart gave an irate sigh, grabbed hold of Jaime’s face with both hands, and pulled him close to kiss him thoroughly senseless, not even caring that the armored face before him wasn’t Jaime’s warm brown skin that he’d grown used to— only to announce as he released him, “ _Yes_ you idiot.”

Khaji Da gave a smug, self-satisfied, and thoroughly pleased hum in the back of Jaime’s mind. [ _I told you he was the best choice Jaime Reyes._ ]

_‘Oh shut up.’_

And they lived happily (if at times bizarrely) ever after…


End file.
